Red Ascent (Sequel to Red Fall): 55-62/62 (Complete!!)
It was so clear to him now.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at this too tardy realization, this epitome that had graced him now, of all times.
Alfred was many things.
He was a doll; a pretty trophy meant to sit quietly in his place.
He was a toy; fun to break, but even more enjoyable to mend, kissing away the bruises with poison-laced lips, endearments that leaked a malicious insanity.
He was a butterfly; thin, canvas wings fluttering with an incandescent glow, panels shimmering with bleeding reds and cobalts, a pale white marking the colors with stars and stripes.
But that’s not why Ivan liked him, wanted him, loved him-
It’s because Alfred was a sunflower.
A radiant crown of gold that shone with life under the heat of high noon, cerulean irises that matched the depth of the sky that the flowers strived for; he was a natural cleanser too, removing the impurities from his surroundings, so willing to take everything in, despite what it might be:
Guilt.
Blame.
Hate.
The American bore it all, layering the aspirations and malcontents of many upon his now slight shoulders; it boiled and bubbled inside, painting his insides with shadows, turning his blood blacker with each sharp word. But what should the Russian care if the life essence ran thick and polluted?
Sunflowers couldn’t bleed-
Violet eyes glimmered like shattered diamonds as gloved hands pushed the heavy wood; opening slowly, so slowly, he could see the lily, waxen light through the crack. Strips of white paved the long aisle, swirling, blending with the exuberant hues of the art glass; the pictures were perfection just like him.
There was just one problem with flowers-
His milky skin was free of blemishes, the aforementioned crown letting loosely waved locks brush his collarbone; his fingers were ensnared in a thin, metal chain, the sterile white mask framing closed, murmuring lashes. The expression was smooth with sleep, dreams sewing shut azure eyes; he was finally content, finally safe.
Well.
That would just have to be changed, wouldn’t it?
Even the snow seemed to shy from Ivan as he began to walk towards the alter, the flakes skittishly twirling away from his broad frame as he advanced. The cold was heavy, thick, draping a blanket of frosty shivers throughout the space, hot breath curling like smoke from smiling lips.
A leather-clad hand caressed the American’s ice speckled cheek, cupping gently, as the elder placed a kiss on the man’s forehead.
“Little patriot, it is time to wake up; our fight is not yet over.” Words that were breathed low into the blonde’s ear, warmth that was agonizingly close.
Eyes slowly opened, the indigo irises eerily devoid of emotion; the younger examined the gun, still interwoven with his cold fingers. He weakly lifted the weapon, numbly turning it several ways before lifting his gaze to the Russian’s.
“Da, my rebel, you will use your gun; just as we practiced, remember?” Ivan said with a too sweet smile, tapping the other’s nose lightly with a single digit, “Mother will be very proud of you.”
Before Alfred could answer, he was suddenly pushed to the floor, the elder country quickly darting backwards; absently, the American noted the still smoking bullet hole was right were the Russian’s head had previously been.
“No more.”
Glazed blue eyes tried to focus on the figure, the image blurring into a filmy watercolor, fog settling around his troubled consciousness; the darkness was calling again, a temptation too seductive to ignore.
“I won’t let you hurt him anymore, Ivan!”
Alfred found something strangely comforting in that voice as his lids veiled, the gun curling into his chest as he slipped into the shadows.
~~
Death was something that the countries preferred not to think about.
It was a necessary part of the cycle, of course; for every new life, new person within their borders, old eyes would close for the final time, and the line would go flat. This was accepted; it couldn’t be changed no matter who you were, because everyone, at some point, had to die.
But what about a country?
How does a country die?
The most logical answer, of course, would be to kill them; a bullet to the brain is hard to argue with, after all.
If you cut them, they bleed; if you break their bones, they scream; they are as much human as they are country.
Yet, there is something-more.
It is that something that made them different, that let them scoff at the Reaper and his scythe-but this was unsatisfying to the curious, leaving an unpleasant, bitter taste on the tongue.
Uncertainty, to be aptly named.
So in the inky black of the darkest night, with the warmth of intoxication burning through a man like licking fire, a drunken whisper might be purred into a hungry ear, something to finally satiate the unspoken question: how is that one kills a country?
Defeat.
Complete, and irrefutable defeat; there can be no question who the winner is, the man would breathe into that ear, slurring, no question.
And gazes would meet, emerald to emerald; brown locks versus rumpled waves of long straw, one eye to two, and the curious would barely mouth, “But Arthur-”
And he would be waved off with an indiscriminate flick of the wrist, and the former empire would sigh, regarding the invisible blood on his hands with stony interest, because he knew just what that meant and say, “You know when it’s time, Toris; you just bloody know.”
That’s how it would happen because that’s how it did happen, and this was what raced through the brunette’s mind as he quietly crept through the door, aim trained on the Russian’s head, labored breathing stifled to short spurts of air.
Crack.
As he heard the glass crunch beneath his foot he pulled the trigger, seeing Ivan’s frame tense with the sound; the latter was too fast however, deftly dodging just in time for the bullet to nestle into the heart of the alter.
“No more,” Toris heard himself say, cocking the trigger once more. He could see Alfred trying to discern something with a somnolent gaze, eyes slowly closing as he fell unconscious, revolver still in hand.
“I won’t let you hurt him anymore, Ivan!”
And the Russian softly laughed as he stood, mirthless peals that froze the heart and echoed across the mind passing slightly parted lips.
“Is that so, my Liet?” he said, tone mocking and cruel, “I would like to see you try.” The addressed man nervously chewed his tongue, eye quickly darting about the room; he just needed time to get close enough-
Ah, there!
With a cry, the brunette bolted forward, quickly unloading his rounds as Ivan ran to the far wall, trying to take shelter in the alcove.
Gotcha!
With his second-to-last shot, the Lithuanian took out the remaining hinge on a heavily leaning beam; with a loud moan, the wood gave, splintering as that area of the ceiling caved. All Toris saw was Ivan’s look of surprise as he was buried beneath the rubble, the dust quickly clouding the Resistance leader’s vision.
As everything settled, the brunette carefully lowered his arm, blinking away the blurriness; not seeing any movement, he took a moment to breathe, allowing a few shaky breaths to rush from his mouth, and he almost let himself smile. Quickly turning on his heel, he tossed his gun away and rushed towards Alfred, fine-ground wood slipping underfoot.
Finally stumbling over to the man, he crashed to his knees, gathering the blonde in his arms and giving him a few light shakes.
“Alfred…Alfred, wake up! C’mon, America, get up!”
And then the shadows shifted, the barest flicker of muted light; eyebrows furrowing, he began to turn when he was caught upside the head with a pipe.
Hurled to the ground from the force, Toris coughed harshly, his world swimming as he tried to push himself up on shaking arms; he was forced back by down a kick to the stomach, air evaporating as he gasped to breathe.
“If I had not ducked under a nearby pew, I believe that would have a hurt a great deal; though, I appreciate you providing me with a weapon. Such a good person you are, da?”
The brunette said nothing as he scrambled to his feet, swaying widely and panting heavily; ignoring the blood trickling down his cheek, he fumbled at his belt, finally grasping the hilt and drawing his blade.
His opponent hadn’t escaped unscathed, Toris noted, though this was little comfort; Ivan’s eyes were narrowed with anger and vicious hatred, the aforementioned pipe gripped by his good arm, the other too broken to use. His face was nicked with various scratches, scarlet lining his already crazed expression; he grinned wildly as he licked the life from his lip.
“You cannot beat me with that toy,” the Russian hissed, all pretense of sweetness now lost, “You will not win,” and then his smile widened, demented and twisted, “You will beautiful; your insides will be draped across your corpse like silk ribbons, skin already colored black and blue; you will never leave again, Liet, even if I have to rip out that bleeding heart and let you listen to its final beats.”
Words were abandoned as the weapons met, steel on rusted steel, and the battle began.
~~
It was warm.
He couldn’t open his eyes, but felt the sun on his back, the wind fingering his hair; the smell of grass was prominent in his senses, and he could feel it in his hands, tickling him with nature’s softness. The leaves rustled like natural chimes and it was so perfect-
“Mr. America?”
Who?
He thought he imagined it, merely the air teasing him with its downy, whistling sounds.
“Come now, there is no time for this; you need to get up, Mr. America.”
And he slowly batted his lids, his vision meeting an endless sky and countless trees, the sun just peaking through a gap in the canopy, bathing the area in light. He sleepily turned his view, letting it fall on the young man who was seated beside him.
Wind-swept blond fell across the other’s forehead, the waves gleaming with platinums and straws; he was tall, long limbs demurely crossed and clothed in scarlet, gold bullion tumbling down slight shoulders. Amethyst irises sparkled with ardor, mouth tipped into a smile. He felt nothing but kindness from the stranger, but the American was still wary.
“Who are you?”
Rich laughter, purely benign in intent, fell from the other’s lips, the sound rich with life.
“I would hope I’m not that forgettable, Mr. America; p-perhaps, if I-I s-spoke l-like th-this?”
Flash; a trembling mass clad in a deep garnet, shaking fingers and endless tears, and he was so afraid-
“L-lativa?” Alfred mumbled; his head was beginning to pound. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew the man’s name; he had never met him before, right?
“Correct!” Raivis said as he stood, smiling, stretching his long, slim frame, “I am glad you remember; but are there not others you should be remembering?”
“I don’t understand,” Alfred managed, tried to massage the ever intensifying pain away, “I-I just want to-”
“To what? Fade away? Hide from your fears? That is what I used to want, used to let myself do; and do you know what happened? Everyone I loved began to die, slowly, painfully, the hurt eating away at them from the inside,” the Latvian said, his voice saturated with experience that should have been far beyond his years.
“But one day,” he continued, “I finally realized that even though I had survived, I had died long ago, that I was just a body now, mindlessly moving through the world and turning a blind eye to other’s pain, only thinking of myself.” Raivis paused and laughed, though the beginnings of tears glimmer at the corners of his eyes.
“I-I was such a child! But that night, when I forced my older brother to escape into the swirling snow while I stayed behind-I lived.”
Words said with such conviction, such undeniable truth that the American felt his eyes pulse with warmth, a few drops streaking down his cheeks. The violet-eyed man kneeled at Alfred’s side, taking one of the other's hands into his own.
“Mr. America, there is someone who needs you right now; remember? You promised.”
Another searing stab of pain elicited a muffled scream from the bespectacled man, his consciousness aflame with hurt-
Promise me you’ll come back; that you won’t forget.
And the past rushed back, flooding his mind with countless images of the people he was fighting for, of the way things used to be-
“Toris,” Alfred sobbed, the memories painfully reminding him of what he had done, of what he had tried to leave behind. He raised his gaze to Raivis’s, expression a mix of mournful sadness and horror. “How could he-how could he forgive me for what I’ve done to him? What I’ve forgotten?”
“Mr. America, he forgave you long, long ago; he believes in you, just as everyone else does, now,” the Latvian said, gently smoothing the other’s golden tresses as the scenery began to blur, “You can fix this; after all, you have earned a second chance.”
And Alfred’s eyes opened.
~~
The sole-sighted man wavered precariously before regaining his balance, standing as tall as he could, given the circumstances; his sword trembled, but he mentally rejoiced at the blood that was smeared across it, assuring his opponent was not enjoying an easy battle.
Ivan’s violet irises still glimmered with madness, smoldering with shadows, but he, too, was breathing heavily, his chest marked with crimson slashes, liquid soaking into the black fabric. He smiled, rolling his neck as if to work out the kinks.
“Is this all you can manage, dear Liet? I have to say that I am disappointed.”
“I really don’t give a damn what you say, Ivan,” the brunette responded, taking a moment to spit scarlet-tinged saliva to the side after speaking.
And the other only grinned wider, fingers twitching on the pipe, “Such a shame.” And then he rushed the Lithuanian, hard and fast, the latter just barely blocking a blow to his head; however, he wasn’t expecting the solid kick to the leg, causing him to topple to one shaky knee, his sword scattering across the floor. Toris could feel the broken bones shifting and muffled his cry of pain as he forced himself to his feet; but it was too late-
Ivan had found the brunette’s gun, carelessly tossed away earlier;
It still had one shot.
Toris knew he couldn’t move fast enough to escape the bullet, wincing as he tried putting pressure on his leg; sweat trickled along his jaw as he met the Russian’s gaze, his own icy with hatred. The other merely laughed, focusing his sight as he began to pull the trigger.
“I win.”
Bang.
As the Lithuanian braced himself for the contact, eyes instinctively shutting, he feverishly prayed that the others could finish the job, that Arthur could get there fast enough-
But it never came.
Emerald eyes slowly opened to see that someone was in front of him; confusion slowly turned to disbelief before changing to horrified shock-
No, he couldn’t-!
And then the person turned, a weak smile tweaking the corners of his lips, the lips that mouthed a silent request, his hair glinting like a halo around eyes that knew.
And then American crumpled to the floor, the blood quickly pooling from the wound in his chest.
It was painfully quiet; neither party moved as they began to realize just what had occurred, their gazes finding the body on the floor. Time didn’t exist; it was frozen, perfectly preserved as the moment lasted for an eternity and more, matching the depth of those half-open, shimmering azure irises-
“Al-fred?”
It all happened so fast.
Toris grabbed the fallen country’s gun, quickly cocking and aiming the weapon; in a breath he had pulled the trigger, the sound shattering the previously faultless moment in time. As the quiet returned, the Russian raised a shaking hand to his head, bringing fingers away marked with blood. As he felt himself beginning to fall, the entire room spinning and melting around him, he finally realized the one failing of his beloved flower-
Flowers never last forever.
As he watched Ivan hit the floor, the man that had killed millions and covered the world in garnet, Toirs felt disconnected, as if the events were still a dream rather than a resolution.
It was over.
As the brunette felt the tears, he grasped at what cost it had come.
“America!” he yelled, rapidly pulling the man into his arms; his worry only deepened as he assessed the damage. The bullet was precisely placed, perfectly planned and executed, just like everything else the Russian had accomplished.
Ivan was still getting the last laugh.
With a strangled cough, red trickled from the American’s mouth, dribbling down too pale skin as the man struggled to breathe.
“T-toris-”
“Yes, yes, I’m here, America, don’t worry! Help is on the way! We’ve won! Ivan’s dead, Alfred, we’re finally free!” Such happy words were spoken through countless tears, the Lithuanian unable to stop the streaks quickly veining down his cheeks.
“T-toris,” Alfred said, the smile twitching at his lips again, “I-I’m d-dying; y’know t-that.” The addressed only furiously shook his head, grip tightening on the quickly reddening uniform.
“Wha-what are you saying? Help is coming! We’ve won, Alfred, we’ve won,” Toris said, voice quickly weakening as his throat thickened with emotion. The American merely chuckled, causing a few more flecks of scarlet to dot the other’s shirt; lifting a hand, the blonde brushed a few of the salty trails away.
“No need to c-cry, you big s-softie,” Alfred managed to whisper.
“But, America-everything we’ve accomplished, everything we’ve just gained; don’t you want to see? It’s all because of you, America; you! You can’t leave now-”
But the blonde only smiled once more, as if he knew something that the brunette didn’t, something that was so obvious it hurt.
“Don’t worry, T-toris,” Alfred said, words soft and slightly slurred, eyelids fluttering, “I-I’ve got’n a second c-chance.”
And the Hero died that day, wrapped in the arms of one crying Lithuanian who couldn’t help but wonder if justice had been done after all.
~~
Toris opened the door to the car, angling out of the driver’s seat; straightening his suit, he ran a hand through his choppy brown hair, contemplating the expansive blue sky that had graced the day. A few big, puffy clouds rolled by, all pulled cotton and downy softness as they carelessly floated in the sea of air. The sun was playing coy, only allowing a few rays through the whipped fluff, enjoying the game.
Ten years.
It really just seemed like yesterday.
The world was still rebuilding, still shaken from the reign of Ivan; as cities returned and people began to smile again, a new council was formed. All of the remaining countries had come together and signed a pact, the document that had formed the backbone of the new World Council; not a single one hesitated as they pledged to prevent any plans like Ivan’s from ever reaching maturity. They each vowed not only to keep themselves in order, but all the other countries as well;
They were all allies.
As the last signature had dried, the blood of each nation their ink, there had been applause and tears, cheers of jubilation and friendly hugs all around.
Never again, they had all promised, never again.
The Lithuanian sighed and started down the path, enjoying the shade of the trees and the rustle of the wind; in the distance he saw his destination. Everyone else was already there, but he knew they would wait for him despite his tardiness.
How long would it last?
“Ah, there he is, ve~!”
“Italy, it is rude to point; please refrain from doing so-Ahh! Ah! My arm does not bend that way! Italy, verdamment-”
“But, Germany-!”
The brunette only chuckled and gave a small wave, Feliciano happily returning the gesture as he wildly pumped his love’s arm up and down. Flustered, the German attempted to stop the other, only to be silenced with a rather pouty kiss.
“Hey! Hey, Hey! Hands off mi fratello, potato bastard! You’re tainting his lips with your-germanesss!” an angry brunette fumed, held back from his pummeling by a smiling Spaniard.
“Lovi, that’s rude. I’m sorry Ludwig, y’know how he gets-Ah! Dios mio! He’s blushing! You look just like a tomato!”
Now thrashing with increased fervor in Antonio’s hold, Toris merely spared them a nod and moved to greet the others.
“Ah, there’s the lad.”
Toris met Arthur’s gaze, warmly shaking hands with the Briton; his hair was now respectably short, heavy brows lax over emerald eyes. The handkerchief in his pocket was strangely ratty compared to his otherwise pristine suit; if one looked hard enough, a star swimming in pool of blue could just be made out-
“Sorry I’m late,” the brunette said sheepishly, “You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”
“Mon ami, I can only imagine,” another voice added as arm slinked around the Briton’s waist. Sputtering furiously, Arthur began to writhe in the hold, flailing rather hilariously.
“Bloody hell! Get off me, you stupid git!”
“Ah ah, Angleterre,” the blonde purred, locks now fashionably sheared at the shoulders, blue eyes alight with mischief, “remember your blood pressure.”
“You’re the reason I have high blood pressure! Damn Frog!”
“He really likes it,” Francis assured Toris, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “Just how he likes when I-”
The Frenchman was cut off as Arthur’s fist somehow found the other’s face, which rapidly descended into a scuffle, a fight only matched by the quickly escalating tiff between China and Korea, the former informing the latter that, no, aru, he didn’t have breasts, as the ever stoic Japan looked on, quietly pleading with them to quiet themselves. Canada was now in a similar situation, trying to separate his quarreling ‘parents’ as Ukraine looked on with a concerned countenance.
It was just as things had always been.
A touch on his arm brought him back to reality.
“Toris,” Feliks said, voice muted, though it had been improving, “Like, I think we should start.” Toris entwined their fingers, giving the other’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“Yeah, you’re right,” the brunette said, “Your hair looks nice today, too.” The other looked away, eyes far away, fingering the boy-short locks with a twirl.
“I think-I like it better this way.”
Drawing his hand away after one final squeeze, Toris turned to the crowd.
“Everyone!” he yelled over the din, “It’s time to start!” Almost instantly, the quiet of the day returned, a few countries straightening their clothes and brushing the dirt from their collars.
“As everyone already knows,” the Lithuanian began, “today marks ten years since the day that the old regime fell; it was a long, difficult journey for all of us, but today, we remember one specific person that is no longer with us,” and he added with a tiny grin, “one ‘hero’ in particular.”
Each country had a similar expression, a sad smile as they all remembered the exuberant blonde, burger in hand as he would flash a beaming smirk, eyes glimmering with hope at the future; all sights fell upon the tombstone, decorated with countless blooms from every corner of the globe.
“Today, is his day; we-”
The brunette suddenly stopped as he looked just past the crowd, sole eye widening in shock, lips slightly parted as the rest of his speech died on his tongue.
“Toris? Toris, what’s wrong?” Poland asked, tone filled with concern at the other’s expression. And then the brunette was sprinting down the hill, running towards the nearby grove of trees as fast as his legs could carry him.
“What on earth-for godsakes, don’t just stand here, we have to go after the man!”
The other countries seemed to snap out of their daze and raced after the Lithuanian, at a severe disadvantage due to his head start, but still yelling at him all the while.
Breaking through a bramble of branches, the brunette barely noticed as his tie was ripped off, too focused on what he had seen-
But, Latvia was dead-
After breaking through another cage of sharp branches, he tumbled into a secluded clearing, nearly falling face first into the grass. Mentally cursing the stains on his pants, he took in the area.
The sun seemed perfectly positioned, lighting the field with a golden glow; the wind whispered little nothings into the brunette’s ears, whipping his hair indiscriminately as the leaves rustled, their song balmy and smooth. The man felt his eye hood, the air seeming to surround him like a cool embrace;
It was perfect.
“Da…?”
His lid unveiled in surprise at the sound, and he looked around for the source, his gaze almost immediately finding the largest tree in the tiny grove; working his way down the weathered trunk, across the gnarled roots and white blanket-
Wait-
And his breath seemed to evaporate, the world stilling as he sunk to the ground, legs giving out beneath him; he felt his mouth moving, but there wasn’t any sound, only the wind giggling as it danced through the grass, the little snowy dress billowing around a tiny frame.
The sky was in those eyes, azure and deep in their perfection; hair fell like waves of grain, tickling the child’s ears with silky strands. Roses flowered on his sun-kissed cheeks, and the little boy laughed as he peeked around the large tree trunk once more, little fingers tugging at a lopsided scarlet ribbon, enjoying his tease.
The brunette wouldn’t have believed it if the pale, moonlight mask hadn’t been hanging from the child’s neck.
“He’s over here, guys, I found him! Toris, for the love of Christ, what are you-”
And then the voice caught, and the Briton was rendered as breathless as the Lithuanian, having only enough strength to utter a barely whispered name. The brunette could feel the tears now, trickling down his smiling visage as he began to laugh, wiping the salty streaks away as he choked on the quickly building emotion in his throat.
He could hear the other countries approaching, but nothing could distract him from the sight of the little boy, now wobbling towards him with unsteady steps. Nibbling on a few fingers, the child extended a too large sleeve, grinning mischievously. The sole-sighted man could see his brother leaning against the tree, shimmering in gold, violet irises saying what Toris already remembered from that cold night, long ago:
It was a second chance.
For all of them.
/End
Pages: 103
Characters: 206,649
Thanks to all of you who read! ~ <3 I hope you enjoyed! :3
~Apostlegirl